


machinae sans cibus

by Transient_Bard



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Multi, about how to do a crafting story in a game all about adventure and drama, and why it matters so, this has been burning at me for some time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 12:43:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16326470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transient_Bard/pseuds/Transient_Bard
Summary: The Warrior of Light is exhausted and done with trying to save the world for a time, after a chance talk with Fordola in her cell.  She starts a different kind of adventure - one exploring the life not soaked with blood and aether in Eorzea, and .A quest centered around the DoH/DoL classes, and other original professions in FFXIV, as a WoL takes a break for her health.





	1. realization

**Author's Note:**

> The Warrior of Light/Protagonist for this story:
> 
> Rauffe Bell (Of the Silver Fuller, Fatewalker, etc.) - Balmung  
> DoW: SAM70, BRD50, DRK45, ROG25  
> DoM: RDM52, AST45  
> DoH: CUL52, others at 15~.  
> DoL: All around 20~.  
> Origin: Ul'dah 
> 
> A foray into a more consistently updated, longer-form story. Think of this as an experiment with the ideas of a "travelogue" along the lines of Anthony Bourdain, Andrew Zimmern, and the like. Expect a lot of description of food, of a lot smaller stories and a hell of a lot of OCs.

“I’d sooner cut my own tongue out than admit it to your face, wretch of a Garlean… but I suppose you were right. We’ve got more to intertwine us than what separates us.”

The so-called Warrior of Light invectively spit the words out, glaring at the fallen body and armor of the throat-cut body. The former legatus of the XIIth legion, deposed viceroy of Ala Mhigo, Zenos yae Galvus - the only Garlean whom the adventurer swore absolute vengeance upon, for the sole reason of being easily able to best her at an earlier meeting of blades -- lay dead at her feet. All she wanted to do was continue to slash and stab and hack away at every single piece of forsaken, ugly armor that masked his body; to sink her own blade directly through his dead heart and finally, finally, put to rest who was the better samurai, the stronger hunter between them.

Instead, she had to satisfy herself with a savage kick to his shoulder, and a mighty yank of his ugly rotating scabbard from his waist. Three swords were to be hers, it was only right. She did all the work for separating Zenos from the horrendous rage of the primal Shinryu (“damn Ilberd and his single-minded revenge to the hells as well, may he rest in no peace”), it was only fair that she got to claim the blades that struggled to bring her and her compatriots down. The scabbard, with its various machinations and contraptions within, was heavy -- she’d sling it over her back, praying that there was no trap laid for her with some kind of spring-loaded spikes within -- but she bore the burden with a sense of indignant pride. 

She spotted the rest of the Scions, and to her own surprise the fury didn’t die at the sight of them. Not that her fury lay with them in the first place -- it was long past the time that such anger would crop up, and that time was long ago, when she was naught but a singing archer under a different name, a different place. She’s changed, Rauffe has, along with everyone else. 

“Alphi, Ali, Lyse…” the Warrior starts, raising a hand to greet them -- 

Then a slip of the mind, and like a curtain drawn across the stage, Rauffe Bell is out on the ground.

 

She awakens once more, thankfully in a cooler place. Shade, a bed, gentle oil lamplight scattered dimly around the room. A momentary panic sets in -- it’s soon rescinded, when she sees there is no bars or walls preventing her from leaving, only a simple door. Sighing, she flops back onto the bed and… waits.

For what? She knows not. The liberation of Ala Mhigo was complete, she dimly heard the distant song of Ala Mhigan independence being sung from the top of the viceroy’s palace. A faint stirring of longing, she so wished she could be there to contribute -- 

Pain. Overwhelming pain, the back of her head, not again-- 

Hear. Feel. Think.

Most like any other this sepia flashback has shown her, this damnable Echo, this fragment of tempered power that the Mothercrystal saw fit to bestow upon a stowaway Pearl Lane rat. She witnesses a tragic tale in sepia and chrome -- of someone nearby, someone that Rauffe bore little umbrage with, but the Echo’s protagonist surely did with the Warrior of Light -- of Fordola rem Lupis, the Butcher. Rauffe watches with muted interest, as the play-by-play of Fordola’s coming into her own works before her eyes -- her vow of revenge and vow of reanimating the Ala Mhigo that she once knew, through the method of joining Garlemald’s forces from within and proving herself. She witnesses the experimental, gruesome treatment at the hands of Zenos and his lackey rat scientist, Aurus (was he the one in the floating chair that was able to yank Rauffe’s soul out of her body?). 

And something goes cold when she dimly hears the cries of anguish from a nearby room, that are distinctly in Fordola’s voice -- and not in any way part of the flashback of the Echo. 

She clears the vision, returns to herself, shakes off the chill and the stiffness of such an out-of-body experience from her face. Quickly finds something to wipe herself off with, a quick look in the mirror -- covered in so many scars, and the slash-like brand on her cheek still as there as the day she was given it. It’d have to do, given the injuries and burns she still bore. Snagging her coat, tying her bandana, making herself mildly presentable, and tucking in a boot-knife into the folds of her hakama, swinging the door open and searching for the cries. A heartstring tugged at the anguish -- she was there, more than once. 

The former Ala Mhigan was found easily, clutching her head and curled upon her own cot. A nod to the pair of guards outside, and they let Rauffe in before closing the heavy door behind the two. AN unbidden shiver at the sound of a lock -- they did have orders, after all. 

“Fordola…” Rauffe’s voice cracked, dehydrated in the salt desert they were in. “Oi. Fordola, can you hear me?” Daring not to take a step towards her, not knowing in what form this took. Immediately, rem Lupis’ breathing started to shallow, able to see for once, and Fordola turned in her cot to stare at the cross-armed figure of Rauffe, leaning in the darkness and staring directly at her. The burning red and black eye shocked Rauffe for a moment, but also offered some strange reassurance. 

“What are you doing here…? Where’re yer compatriots? You decided to finish the job yerself for them?” Fordola uttered, weakness in her voice betraying her being caught in a moment of torment.  
“... have a care to know of what you speak, Fordola.” Rauffe, long ago, had learned quickly of how to weaponize her voice during the training she received from Jehantel and others in the forest -- and although it was rustier than ever, she at least knew when to apply an edge to her words. Enough to make Fordola pay direct attention, and thankfully be quiet. Rauffe continued in the wake, careless in the gritted gaze of the prisoner of war.  
“I come to try to understand you, Fordola, rather than to work some kind of twist in fate. Don’t ply me for death, I will not provide. Do not even attempt anything wicked, and you may just see yourself free and with your lifelong dream accomplished within the moon.” She leaned closer. “But I want you to talk and listen, Fordola. Hear, feel, and think. ...surely, you can do that?”  
More gritted teeth, but rem Lupis nodded. There wasn’t much she could do in the face of the Warrior of Light, after all. 

The next hour goes by, and the two warriors end up cross-legged in front of one another. Rauffe manages to talk Fordola down from wanting the gallows, and while she raises and ruckuses in the small room, the former bard manages to keep her restrained with a gentle reminder and a refusal to raise her voice. The Ala Mhigan vents, releases much of the pressure she had stowed and bottled -- even though the Echo informed her of most of this, first-person, Rauffe still asks. Still coaxes and questions. There was to be no judgement in this chamber today, only understanding.  
Soon, Fordola’s spun tale comes to an end, and she’s left staring at the stone floor, hugging knees to her chest. Much of the fire was lost for now, much of the air that kept her chest proud and angry instead used to spill everything. Rauffe remained placid, for a time…  
“... how did you manage to keep it together for so long…?” Fordola asks, unwilling to meet the bardic swordswoman’s eyes.  
“Pardon?”  
“With all you’ve seen… with all you’ve dealt with. The wars, the Dravanians, I think.” she gulps, still trying to catch her breath. “The… the endless fighting… against the Primals, against… everyone.”  
“I don’t.”  
“... what?”  
“Whoever told you I kept it together for so long is a Twelve damned liar. I’m only human--”  
“Don’t … don’t give me that as an excuse, you know it’s not true. No woman or man in your position, no matter what, would have weathered all you bore with such determination that would make entire armies cower.”  
“... I don’t recall ever telling you my story.” Rauffe narrows her eyes.  
“You didn’t need to. I saw it. That… whatever I saw. I saw your past…”  
She has the Echo now too? A panicked thought, as she struggled to sit up.  
“... tell me something. Would you and I have done anything differently if we traded places?”  
The question burned at Rauffe’s psyche, taking a pause to process and parse. “I… I can’t rightly say I would have done much differently, given the opportunities that were here.”  
“And thus you see why I stuck to my blade for so long.” A resolution in Fordola’s voice, resting the back of her head against the edge of the cot. “I vowed Ala Mhigo free again, and I did everything in my power to do so.”  
“And I fault you none for it. A soldier in the army, even a self-motivated one as you, is still a soldier.” Rauffe stood and continued to speak, the edge leaching back into her tone. “And you had an opportunity to make things right at every turn, yet still opted to follow orders.”  
Something broke in Fordola’s eyes as Rauffe turned to leave, that invisible fragile bond of rapport starting to fracture. Hot anger threatened to rise, as she stood as well-- “You little--”  
“Learn, from your choices, Fordola. Death will not absolve you of any of them -- but growth and humility may do good to cultivate your garden.”  
The Warrior of Light knocked on the door, and left Fordola alone in the room once more. 

She had work to do tonight. And may not see Ala Mhigo for some time.

All she knew, though, was that for a time, the life of a blade and arrow would need to take a long break.


	2. departure from ala mhigo, and a gift.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rauffe leaves ala mhigo, travels back home. sorry this prologue is so long lmao, i promise i'm getting there.

Around a bonfire in the Ala Mhigan Quarter later that night, the swordswoman raised a Limsan tankard high with cold wine with her peers, and after a hearty drink, began to speak to the crowd that were to be in earshot tonight.

 

“Esteemed and cherished friends of mine, I come to you with a little story -- that sadly, I must go on an extended leave of absence, and will not be able to contribute as easily as I’d desire, for the rebuilding and such of Ala Mhigo. And yes, I know, I anticipate the sighs and the lamentations, and the frustration, but this story sadly must be told.  I’ll gladly remind the audience that this is  _ not - _ let me repeat -  _ not the fault,  _ of anyone here.

“It is more… of a need for different… how shall we describe it… avenues of recuperation. As you all know, a small band of adventurers and I had only recently slain the former Viceroy in combat.  Long may his name remained buried and eventually forgotten, even as I bear one of his enchanted katanas upon my hip. Before you ask, it was a trophy, and no you can’t have it -- hells, you want it? Come catch this blade outside, how about? No? Didn’t think so? Alright then, back to my story… where was i?  Ah, yes, we had just slain the former Viceroy, even after he decided it was a wise idea to merge himself with the primal Shinryu that he had managed to restrain with some variety of magitek. How the Garleans never managed to suss out how to cast magick, yet were able to restrain and resist Primals, I’ll never know, but alas! I tangent once again.  

“I about near died after that fight -- internal damage and bleeding had taken its toll upon me, along with windburn, copious amounts of electric shock, and more than enough injuries external to make the best healers of our time wonder how I still managed to walk away.  Don’t ask me how. But as I was recovering and sleeping off a lot of the damage -- many thanks again, Mommon -- there was a deep exhaustion and melancholy that overtook me, as I reflected. I’ve participated in the core conflicts of now three prolonged conflicts -- back home in Eorzea, then in Ishgard against the Dravanians, and then finally here in the streets we’re drinking in.  I regret absolutely none of my participation, do not get me wrong here. I’m fully cognizant that because of my actions and determination and all that praise and hooey you heap onto my ears - and I love you for it - a  _ lot  _ of people’s lives were made much richer, and better.  I’ve slain upwards of a hundred primals, endlessly being respawned out of various tribes’ prayers and crystals… and even had my hand in the slaying of a rampaging dragon or two.”

A pause, and Rauffe sought temporary solace at the bottom of her tankard.  Unbidden, her free hand goes to the Ishgardian brooch upon her jacket, pinning two ends together of an Ala Mhigan pennant that a couple of revelers had seen fit to drape upon her shoulders, like a cape.  Somehow it weighed on her, far heavier than any cuirass or other armor she wore.

“... but in that same time, I’ve come to meet so many people, and in the process, lost so many people.  Thousands of lives were lost in the wars, conflicts, battles and altercations I was involved in. The morality of war, its costs and its understood necessities aside, the very act of combat has begun to weigh my body and soul down, and… suffice it to say, if I am still in demand for the future, I must make sure to maintain said body and soul as best as i can.  There’s only so much that a healer can mend, after all.”

She grasps the brooch tightly, closing her eyes.  A few murmurs of agreement and understanding - a wan smile upon her face, as she opens maizeflower blue eyes and looks upon everyone.

“A healer cannot mend the spark within, no matter how much they may try.  So to preserve mine, I will be traveling once more. To seek new aspects of life to treasure, outside of the realm of pure war efforts.  I’ll be around, I’ll be in touch, and I’ll not give up the blade entirely of course -- the world is dark, and still full of many terrors that would rather come to you, rather than you seek them.   But I’m confident that between the hordes of us here, we’ll be able to hold the fort and get the work done to rebuild Ala Mhigo, and to ensure the safety and forthcoming peace of our collective peoples. 

“You’ve all fought so, so well, and I could not be more proud to have been here to witness it.  I’m certain that Lyse and Raubahn and all that stay here will be more than capable to lead you in my absence -- not that I’ve done much to  _ lead _ here, of course.” A hearty laugh, joined by quite a few.  The snowy-haired summoner and redmage couldn’t help but shake their heads with smiles -- at least she made them laugh for once.  Red-robed Lyse sitting next to the black-armored Bull of Ala Mhigo, also grinning and laughing. 

If nothing else, she still knew how to play to a crowd.

“Before I leave, how about a song?”

 

No sleep was to be Rauffe’s partner that night, as she secured the meager gear she left home with to her red-tipped chocobo companion’s saddlebags.  She could always sleep on the flight home, she supposed, but if she were to be true to herself? Her mind was racing far too fast for any kind of rest to grace her.  Yahni knew the way home, and she was sure her smart, lovable chocobo could navigate and defend her if Rauffe somehow drifted off -- but too much to still plan, too much to still figure out what to do.  Not under the yoke of the expectations of the war, and unwilling to be the fetcher of things and the doer of good deeds outside of herself for a bit. Why, when she got to Gridania, she could eat all the eel pies she could afford from the Carline--

“Lost in thought, Bell?”

“Yeeep!!” Rauffe nearly dropped everything and reached for her bootknife, whirling her sight around to see… of all people, Yugiri.  The raven-haired shinobi was cheeky enough to copy her casual “rest against a wall, arms crossed” pose, seeming like she had been there all this time.  (In truth, a shinobi’s footsteps were simply  _ quieter _ , as Yugiri herself once reminded Rauffe on a prior mission in Doma, rather than completely  _ silent _ like many had assumed) 

“Out of all the times to spring a surprise on me, it was to be when I was leaving, Mistwalker?”  Trying her best to recompose herself, Rauffe picked up the dropped packs of rations that were about to be stowed, firmly not looking in the au ra’s direction.  All Yugiri did to respond was a stifled laugh, before sauntering over.   
Sauntering.  That gave Rauffe enough pause to look up at her directly. 

“I simply wanted to wish you luck on the journey.  From here to your home is quite a long distance, still with its own perils and dangers.” There was a rare smile at the corners of Yugiri’s eyes, however, and coupled with her hands held behind her back…?  Rauffe gave an arch of an eyebrow to the retainer of the Doman Lord, and she complied easily, revealing a small package wrapped in some of the cheaper fabrics of Doman make. Not much bigger than a codex, but very clearly not a book. She had an idea, but Yugiri took the moment to explain it for her.

“Lord Hien and I wanted to wish you well, but while milord does much better in the usage of wording and grand speeches, I prefer to make my well-wishes… in a more personal manner.  Here. Take this.”

With little show, but practiced care, she unwrapped the present, and inside was… of all things, a knife in a leather sheath.  A tiny part of Rauffe’s heart sank, but a much larger part soared -- the shape was intimately familiar to her, given it was never meant for any kind of self-defense, and instead...

“I had meant to give you this when there was a moment to spare, but found no better time than now.  Ah… I had heard, from my last travel across the sea to La Noscea, how prolific of a start-up chef you had become, before you had committed your efforts to the Ala Mhigan and Doman fronts.  Heard mention of your pursuits prior, as well… and I had this made. It’s little more than a nine-ilm knife, but--”  
Another practiced hand, that of Rauffe’s own, closes the distance, and closes the wrap around the gift.  Summarily close, close enough that the two had a moment of awkward proximity -- again, summarily broken by a quick kiss to Yugiri’s forehead.  She cared not, at the time, what that would mean; the intent would be clear enough. 

“The best tales, Mistwalker, require not as many words to get the message across.  But your gift is most accepted and cherished. Perhaps once I make it back home, I’ll be able to give it a proper wind around the block.”  Another awkward pause, but the farewell made its presence known in the silence.

“...travel safe, Bell.”

“Stay wise, Yugiri.”

Rauffe would never see it, but the shinobi remained at the gate for some time after the chocobo carried its owner towards Porta Praetoria and further… seemingly forgetting the ideal of staying at her lord’s side. 

Hien would forgive her, she reasoned.  Just this once.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, reviews and feedback welcome.
> 
> Next chapter will be explicitly about Rauffe leaving the position as WoL and trying something else for a while, as she gets her bearings once again.


End file.
